


Intervention

by Nikkie2010



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: Drugs, Gangs, Organized Crime, Other, Physical Abuse, Prostitution, Sexual Abuse, Slavery, Trafficking, Trigger Warnings, Undercover, alternative universe, noncon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 13:43:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3122333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nikkie2010/pseuds/Nikkie2010
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prowl’s life gets thrown to the Pits when he is taken as a down-payment on his murdered creator’s debts. Forced to live the life of a slave and pet to the mech who ordered his creators’ murders, Prowl’s only hope is that somehow Smokescreen will be able to repay what is owed, but as the vorns pass, his hope slowly dwindles. That is until he meets a visored mech…</p><p>Jazz is the best undercover agent the Cybertronian Enforcer’s Corpse has. After vorns trying to infiltrate the Praxian mech trafficking ring, he is finally given the chance to enter their elite circle and bring them down. The second he laid his optics on the Boss’s pet, he knew he was compromised…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Highroller nervously sat in front of the console, his armour flared slightly and his breathing heavy. He licked his dry lips as he cast a quick glance at the chronometer, wiping off the condensation on his overheating frame.

 

The eleventh joor.

 

The console beeped innocently and Highroller’s frame stiffened as he slowly turned his optics towards it as icy dread coiled at the bottom of his tanks.

 

With a shaking hand, he reached forward and pressed the ‘activation’ command.

 

“Yes.” He whispered softly.

 

“You have missed your third payment.”

 

“I can explain…” he said quickly, fear making his words fall over each other in a desperate attempt to stave off what was coming.

 

“Barricade does not care for an explanation.”

 

He jumped as his entrance chime echoed ominously through his living room. “I’ll get it!” He heard his youngest call out enthusiastically, but he was rooted to the spot, unable to cry out to Bluestreak to run and  _hide_.

“It is time you paid what is owed.” The voice drifted from the console.

A scream ripped through the house and Highroller leapt up, sending the chair crashing into the far wall as he bolted towards the source.

 

He skidded to a stop as he saw Lance holding a bleeding, screeching Bluestreak tightly against him - with a weapon pointed straight at his helm. “No!” He cried, rushing towards his family, but a large tankformer entered then and aimed a weapon at him. He froze, his vents short and shallow as he tried not to give in to his growing panic.

 

Lance raised wide optics towards his mate and silently begged him to do something.

 

“Sire!?” He heard his eldest shout. His helm whipped around to see to his growing horror both Smokescreen and Prowl come barging into the room, their doorwings high and trembling.

 

Upon seeing the weapons, Smokescreen shoved Prowl behind him and turned to his sire, the dawning realisation in his optics slowly turning into terror.  _What have you done?_

 

Highroller clearly read the accusation and fear in his eldest’s optics and wished somehow he could right this, but the hard reality was that he had missed three payments, and now,  _they_  were here to collect.

 

“Please.” he begged as he turned back to one of the dark mechs, hand outstretched as if to stave off the attack. “Leave my family out of this. I’ll repay you I swear just, please! Don’t harm them!” He slowly inched forward towards Lance and Bluestreak, trusting Smokescreen to keep Prowl safe as he pleaded with the large, blue mech.

 

“I don’t care about your family.”

 

 _Please_. Highroller swallowed hard as he momentarily shuttered his optics. “I’ll pay back every, single shanix I owe, but please, this is my fault, not theirs.” His optics flew to a smaller, multi-coloured mech as he stepped out from behind the larger blue mech. This sly, deceptively friendly one he recognised instantly.

 

“Hi buddy. No can do. You see we,” he waved his hands to indicate the three mechs behind him, “work for Barricade. And Barricade told us, ‘You either come back with my credits, or my credits’ worth, or don’t bother coming back’. So you see, we gave you time to pay. We were very gracious, but now, you missed yet another payment. And if you don’t pay,” his friendly façade dropped and his faceplate darkened, “ _we_  pay.” He snapped his fingers.

 

Instantly a heloformer stepped towards Lance and Bluestreak and yanked them apart.

 

“No! No-no-no please!”  Highroller cried as Lance was thrown against the far wall, but the heloformer held onto the screaming, panicking sparkling, one hand tightly grabbing a small doorwing.

 

“Leave him!” Lance bellowed as his carrier instincts rebelled at the sight of his terrified youngling being threatened. Snarling, he charged at the black mech, ready to murder him. Highroller screamed at him to stop, but Lance only had one goal – free his youngling.

 

A loud  _crack_  split the air the same time as screams ripped through the room.

 

Lance stumbled and fell to his knees as pain shot through his chassis. “Bluestreak!” He gasped as energon bubbled out his mouth. He lifted a hand disbelievingly and felt his chassis wet with energon. Strong arms caught him and held him close, trying to staunch the bleeding, but failing to keep the darkness at bay.

 

Highroller cradled his bleeding mate against his chassis. He felt the fear, pain and helplessness ebb across the bond as it slowly faded along with the once strong spark he shared. “Lance! Primus, please! Lance!” He howled as tears flowed over his faceplate, the terrified, shocked cries of his younglings going unheard at the loss of his mate.

 

“Lance!”

 

“Prowl no!” Smokescreen grabbed his younger brother and held tightly on to him as he thrashed, desperately wanting to be with his carrier.

 

“Please, Prowl, think about Blue!” Smokescreen yelled and Prowl relaxed in his grip as he stared at the shocked face of their youngest brother.

 

Bluestreak had gone completely quiet, but tears were streaming down his cheeks as he limply hung from the black, cackling heloformer, his gaze locked onto his limp carrier.

 

“Really, this is so unnecessary.” Swindle spat as he watched Highroller comfort his dying mate. “Pity, you would have been able to buy them back one day, but unfortunately, since you’ll probably offline within a couple of joors, that opportunity now befalls your eldest son.” Swindle turned dark, menacing optics onto Smokescreen.

 

“I’ve heard you recently got your psychology degree, and a job, if I’m not mistaken.” His oily voice flowed over the room’s occupants.

 

Smokescreen held Prowl closer to him and raised his wings in defiance, too shocked to respond.

 

“So you will be working to repay your sire’s gambling debts. Oh, and did I mention that some gambling on the side will also be expected. Your sire informed me that you’ve been playing since your third upgrade and you’ve got quite the knack for it.” He sneered as he turned to the larger blue mech.

 

“Onslaught, don’t you think the little black and white, and his darling little grey brother over here, would make excellent additions to the House?” Swindle turned back to Smokescreen and Prowl.

 

“No not that!” Highroller wailed as he turned his shocked optics to his younglings.

 

Smokescreen stared back at him, the betrayal, hurt, shock and fear clear in his pale blue optics as he backed away with Prowl. Highroller could only look at him, his wings flat on his back to communicate his utter helplessness at the situation.

 

“Brawl, take him.”

 

Onslaught ordered and his voice drew Smokescreen’s attention back to his brothers. He shoved Prowl behind him and stepped towards Swindle, his hands held out in a placating manner. “Wait! I’ll be able to repay you from my salary, please. We can work something out and when Prowl and Bluestreak are old enough, they can help as well.” Smokescreen had to try something for his brothers’ sakes, he had to help them. He couldn’t save his creators. His throat closed as he thought of them and he couldn’t help but look at the greying frame of his carrier. He choked back a sob as he turned to Swindle and the approaching tankformer. He had to save his brothers. “They can work! They will help repay! I’ll make sure of it!” He flared his wings possessively to shield Prowl.

 

“Oh yes, they will be working. You can count on that.” Swindle sneered.

 

Brawl grabbed Smokescreen’s arm and yanked him away, sending him crashing onto the sofa. “Prowl run!”

 

Spurred by shock and panic, Prowl dodged Brawl’s grabbing hands and bolted for the door. If he could get out, he could get help. He could maybe still save his carrier. Spark pounding, he sidestepped Swindle’s oily grip and sprinted towards the door.

 

_So close!_

 

Something clamped around his arm and jerked hard. He cried at the pain radiating into his shoulder as Onslaught snatched him and lifted him clean off the ground.

 

“Let me go!” Prowl kicked and buckled against the tightening grip, but it was like fighting against a solid metal wall. He felt one hand grip his doorwing and had a moment’s dread before his world exploded in pain.

 

“Aaah!” His vision whitened and he heard Highroller and Smokescreen scream his name. He tried to focus past the pain and error messages in his HUD, but he couldn’t. “Lance…” He whispered brokenly as the pain increased. He only remembered bits and pieces of what happened next…being thrown in the back of a shuttleformer, bound and gagged, a trembling Bluestreak nestling fearfully against him, Smokescreen’s panicked voice... His world finally faded into darkness with thoughts of his family haunting him.

 

Little did he know that the darkness would continue for a long time even after the light returned.


	2. Chapter 2

Cybertron’s bright sun shone lazily into the room, illuminating small particles of dust as the musky smell of exotic imported goods lined the walls of the lavishly decorated office. By all means, it was a comfortable, elegant office that would be the envy of any high-ranking business, but as he sat there silently nestled between two guards, Smokescreen felt like it was the deepest, darkest hole this side of the Pit. His doorwings twitched nervously as he sat in the oppressing silence – a stark reminder of the horrible future awaiting him and his brothers.

He shuttered his optics as fluids threatened to spill as he remembered the greying frame of his creators. But worse in his memory was the utter helplessness and fear he felt as his younger brothers were thrown into the back of a huge shuttleformer, Prowl barely conscious and Bluestreak shrieking for his carrier, his sire, his brother.

Smokescreen had begged, screamed, threatened, cried…No one had come to their aid. No one had cared enough. He opened his optics and blinked rapidly as he bit down on his lips. He would never forget the look on Blue’s face as he was thrown into the shuttle.

He hadn’t seen them since.

That had been two orns ago, and he was sick with worry.

At that stage he had hoped to be reunited with them, but he had been carted to a different location where he had to wait until things were, as his guards had told him ‘sorted’. Finally this morning, he was dragged to a shuttle, placed in stasis, and woke in this office, sitting in this very chair to await ‘The Boss’.

The one that his sire had owed credits. The one responsible for his creators’ murder, his brother’s injuries, and their separation. He shuttered his optics again. He needed to get them back.

Smokescreen had known that his sire had a gambling issue. His sire had been the one to teach him how to play, and if he was honest, he was a fair hand. But _Primus,_ he had never imagined his sire would play illegally, or loan money, or get involved with _them_.

He jolted as the door opened behind him, but a threatening hand on his shoulder kept him from moving. He subtly flared his doorwings and tried to gather as much data as he could on the mechs entering the room. He bristled as he recognised one of the spark signatures as the same one that had grabbed Prowl.

“Well, well, well. What have we here? A runt ready to pay?” A deep, smooth voice sounded from the unrecognised mech.

Smokescreen glanced at the mech who had spoken, taking in the spiky frame, dark colours, and piercing, red optics as he casually made his way around the desk and seated himself in the large, stuffed Praxian chair.

He swallowed nervously as those piercing optics turned on him and he dipped his doorwings submissively. By instinct he knew this mech to be one of power, and not to be messed with. By instinct he knew this was The Boss.

“Does the runt speak?” The smooth voice asked mockingly and the room answered by subdued chuckles.

Smokescreen glanced around and felt his armour tighten around his frame. “Please, where are my brothers?” He begged as he turned back to the black mech. The room fell silent. Slag. “Please, I need to…Ahh!” the hand gripping his shoulder tightened into a vice-like grip and Smokescreen cringed into the touch, unable to process past the pain shooting out his shoulder.

As sudden as the pain had come, it was gone and the hand released him. Whimpering, he raised a hand to his shoulder and inspected the damage.

“Now, now Crone. It wouldn’t do to injure our guest, or shall I say, client?” That smooth voice sang. “Tell me, Smokescreen, do you know who I am?”

Smokescreen looked at the mech and reluctantly shook his head, fearful of what reaction the simple denial would garner. He might not know who they were, but he did know they were dangerous, and one wrong move could have him killed. He quailed as nervous laughter flitted through the room.

His chin was harshly grabbed and yanked over the desk towards the black mech. He stared into those crimson optics.

“I am Barricade. And I rule Praxus.”

The mech threw him back and Smokescreen barely managed to balance himself on the chair. He righted himself and waited, too scared to speak, but at the same time his pounding spark demanded to know his brothers were safe from this, this psychopathic lunatic.

“Your sire was quite the gambler. He was a regular at one of my casinos, and we did good business together. Pity he fell behind on his payments, but lucky for us, he had three younglings. Useful younglings.”

Smokescreen bristled at the mech and the implications of his words, his fear rapidly morphing into anger. “Where are my brothers?” He whispered, his anger barely contained.  
“It would, of course, have been better if he and his mate were alive,” Barricade shrugged as he continued with his sickening narrative, as if Smokescreen had not spoken at all. “Lance would have reached a fair price and provided good motivation for Highroller to repay his debts. But since they are both dead, it now falls to you, their eldest youngling, to repay what is owed to me. And your brothers, of course, also act as insurance.”

 _Insurance?_ Smokescreen felt his tanks clench and desperately wished for this to be a bad memory flux. “Where. Are. They?” He demanded through grit denta as he balled his fists.

  
Once more Barricade ignored him. “They are fore mostly considered as down payments, and since I am such a generous mech, I will give you the option of buying them back when your debt has been fully repaid. Of course I cannot guarantee their condition. The faster you pay me back, well, I am sure you get the rest.” He smiled sweetly and something inside Smokescreen snapped.

With a feral cry he launched himself at Barricade, ready to rip his spark out.

The next he knew, he was lying face-down on the cold floor, his hands held tightly behind his back and something painfully pressing into his doorwing joints. He grunted and tried to shake free, but the more he struggled the tighter the grip became.

“I see you have some brass-bearings, runt.” Barricade stood and sauntered over to Smokescreen. He knelt and pressed his lips to Smokescreen’s audios. “Don’t ever try something stupid like that again.”

Smokescreen did not need to be told what the consequences would be should he attempt it, but it did not take away the desire to rip into this mech.

“You will start work at the Praxus General Hospital Psychiatric Ward as planned. You will pay me ten-thousand Shanix per quartex. You will also frequent my casino as that is the place you will repay half of the owed amount, as well as pass information I need. You tell anyone, your brothers pay. You go to the enforcers, your brothers pay. You default on payment, your brothers pay, you piss me off, your brothers _pay_.” With a sneer, Barricade shoved off Smokescreen and stood towering over him. “In six quartex time, if you have behaved, I will allow you to see your brothers. Onslaught, escort him to his residency.”

Smokescreen trembled as rough hands jerked him up, fear having usurped anger once more. His knees felt like brittle sticks waiting to snap as he was led to the transport. He paid no heed to the lavish decorations of the house, or the mechs escorting him, or the medic preparing to put him into stasis.

All he could think about, was that he still had no idea where or how his brothers were.

* * *

  
Prowl sluggishly booted at the feeling of his doorwing being gently stroked. He felt so tired as his systems continued to boot up, and somewhere in the back of his processor he knew the booting sequence shouldn't take this long.

  
He shifted and hissed as pain bloomed from his doorwing joint.

  
“Careful. You’re hurt.”

  
Prowl opened his optics and looked into the tear-stained face of his youngest brother. “Blue…?”

  
“I don’t know where we are.” Bluestreak blurted out as small vents rapidly cycled air. “They won’t talk to me. They only come in here and place energon on the table and then they leave. They won’t look at you either, even when I begged them to. Where are we? Where’s Lance? And Highroller? And Smokey? Lance was hurt badly and I miss him. I need him!” The last words ended in a wail as Bluestreak buried himself against Prowl’s side, shaking as sobs raked his small frame.

  
Prowl slowly moved an arm and encircled Bluestreak’s waist, offering as much comfort as possible as his foggy processor tried to recall his most recent memories.  
He gasped as the memories fell into place – the mechs breaking into their house, Lance being shot, his desperate attempt at escape, the pain to his doorwing, and not much beyond that. His tanks felt queasy as he recalled the energon dripping from Lance’s mouth. He knew he would never see them again, but he couldn’t break down, not now. For Bluestreak’s sake.

  
“How long have we been here?” He rasped as Bluestreak’s sobs slowly turned to rough hiccups.

  
The small doorwings lifted up and down in a small shrug. “Maybe two orns. Feels more though. Are you ok?”

  
Prowl nodded even though he felt far from ‘ok’. He silently processed what Bluestreak had said, taking care to keep the pain and loss out of his field and to steer away from memories of his creators. Two orns? First time I’m awake in two orns? And no sign of Smokescreen? We need to find him.

  
“Help me up.” He told Bluestreak. Slowly Prowl got to his pedes, taking care not to move the doorwing too much. He read through the damage reports and grimaced. Dislocated left doorwing. Fantastic. He needed his doorwing fixed so that he could think.

  
They had to get out of here, somehow, but how?

  
He felt his spark beating rapidly in his chest as he looked about the small room. The room was bare save for a single berth, a small side-table and a lamp. A window in the far wall provided natural light, but it was barred with heavy metal rods close enough to each other that Prowl doubted he would be able to get his hands between them.

  
His attention shifted to the door as its lock disengaged and a tall, burly Praxian marched in with two small cubes of energon. He shoved them into the two younger Praxian’s hands.

  
“Drink up, younglings.”

  
Bluestreak looked at Prowl as he held the energon close. Prowl gave a single, curt nod and downed the energon. The instant it hits his tanks he felt better, though the pain was still making him ligh-helmed. He gratefully handed the empty cube back and watched Bluestreak empty his as well.

  
The burly mech grunted then grabbed Prowl’s arm and pulled him towards the door. He cried out as his doorwing shifted, another stab of pain shooting through him.

  
“Come.”

  
“Where are you taking him? Don’t leave me here! Prowl please!” Bluestreak jumped forward and tried to grab Prowl, but the burly mech shoved him away.

  
“Stay.” He sneered.

  
Prowl looked over at Bluestreak’s terrified optics and felt torn. Logically, he was in no state to resist, but he could at least offer some comfort. “I’ll be back. Just stay here.”

  
Prowl tried not to wince as the mech dragged him along, his fingers digging into Prowl’s armour. The journey was a blur as errors kept popping in his HUD. They finally arrived at a non-descript room. He looked around and recognized it as a small medical room and felt relief flood his systems. At least he wasn’t going to have to endure the pain much longer.

  
His attention was drawn to an old Praxian with medical markings on his pure white frame. The mech looked like a retired medic and Prowl briefly wondered why a medic would be involved in something like this.

  
The burly mech hustled Prowl forward and motioned him to sit on the berth. Prowl complied wordlessly, his optics burning with disdain as he watched the mechs.

  
“What do we have here?” The medic’s old, raspy voice grated on him as the medic bent over the examining table, prodding at the joint. Prowl grunted, but was rewarded with a slap over the helm. “Quiet!” The medic hissed.

  
“Damaged goods.” The burly mech said by way of explanation as he took a seat in the opposite corner. “Boss wants him repaired.”

  
“Shall I put the collar on now as well?”

  
 _Goods? Collar?_ Prowl gritted his denta as the insensitive medic set to work repairing his doorwing. Those words did not bode well for either him or Bluestreak.  
“Not yet. Boss wants them assessed first.”

  
The medic grunted and continued setting the dislocated doorwing, ignoring the pain he saw on the young mech’s faceplate with practiced ease. Prowl gripped the edges of the berth, his knuckles white and his faceplate pale as the wing was finally set again. He released a slow vent as the medic stepped back.

 

“Only the doorwing?”

  
The burly mech nodded and lazily got up.

  
“He appears to be in his third frame. Would the Boss want him upgraded to his final frame before being evaluated?” The medic asked as he packed his tools away.  
“Don’t know. He’ll inform you.”

  
Prowl slid from the berth and waited for the world to stop spinning, only vaguely aware of the conversation. He hissed as something was stabbed into his neck, but his vision soon cleared and his balance righted.

  
“Take him back.” The medic jerked his helm towards the door.

  
The burly Praxian grabbed his elbow and dragged him out of the room. As soon as they were out, he flared his doorwings and tried to gather as much data as he could on his surroundings. If what he had heard about _goods_ and _collars_ was any indication, the sooner they got out of here the better.

 

They appeared to be in an old warehouse. On his left, four closed doors were located, but Prowl had a feeling that none of them led to an exit. He was led over a vast open space that he assumed to be the loading bay, which meant that it must have an entrance. As if Primus had heard him, a mech entered the building on the far side, subspacing a card as the large door slid closed. His doorwings perked higher as he focused in that direction. He couldn’t see if the door was guarded on the outside, but he had a suspicion if the door was opened or locked by a card, there wouldn’t be any. He glanced at his guard and wondered if the mech had a card of his own. It could prove useful. He stretched his sensor net as wide as he could, and noted several cameras overlooking the loading bay and exit.

  
If they came through here, they would need to run. Prowl memorised the path they took, and a breem later they arrived at their room. He watched as his guard took out a card from subspace and slid it into the door, waited for the light to blink orange, then typed in a code.

  
_2587._

  
Prowl memorised the code as the light blinked green, beeped, then opened.

  
With a cry, Bluestreak sprang up from the floor as Prowl was thrown into the room. He bolted to his brother, slinging his arms around him and burrowing his head in Prowl’s neck, his small frame raked by tremors.

  
Prowl hugged him closely as the youngling sobbed. He flared his doorwings to hide Bluestreak from the burly mech, but thankfully the mech didn’t follow. Instead the door slid shut and the lock engaged.

  
“Blue? Blue listen to me. We need to get out of here.” He whispered into the youngling’s audio. “I need you to tell me something. Ok?”

  
The young mech nodded and reluctantly released his brother, tears still streaking down his optics.

  
“How often do the guards come? Is there a pattern? And is it always the same one?” Prowl whispered as he wiped the tears off.

  
“Y-yes.” Bluestreak hiccuped. “They come t-twice. Early and late.” He sniffed as he pressed back into Prowl, comforted by the steady pulsing of his older brother’s spark.

  
Prowl shuttered his optics and drew a deep vent. When the guard came tonight, it would be his only opportunity to get the card. He couldn’t count on waiting until the next orn. If they were to be collared, then no doubt there would be a tracking device on it. They needed to escape before then.

  
Prowl stood and lifted Bluestreak, cradling him against his chassis as he walked over to the small window. Glancing out, he saw the industrial buildings. They had to be in the southern areas then. In the far distance, he could make out the towers of Praxus as they shown brightly like a beacon of hope, beckoning them to safety. That was where they should go.

  
He tightened his arms around Bluestreak and drew in a deep, calming vent.

  
“Ok. Let us get some recharge. We are getting out. Tonight.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Ok, remember the plan.” Prowl knelt down beside Bluestreak, the icy metal floor pressing painfully against his knees. His spark beat rapidly against his chassis as he stared into his younger brother’s wide optics. This was it. He ran a finger down Bluestreak’s cheek, knowing there was nothing he could do to ease Blue’s fear. “We are going to be ok.”

Alone in the tiny room, the words dripped so easily from his lips, like thick blobs of syrup. He only hoped they were true. It was a half-cocked plan which he prayed to Primus would work. They only had one opportunity. If he failed….His optics darted to Bluestreak. No, he could not fail. Bluestreak did not deserve this.

_Shloop – tick-tick-tick-tick -click._

Prowl jumped to stand next to the door, pressed against the wall. Primus, he was sure the guard would be able to hear his frantic spark pounding, the energon rushing through his audials, the –

The door swooshed open and the guard stepped in.

Prowl lunged, striking the palm of his hand against the guard’s olfactory ridge. A muffled cry of outrage escaped the guard and he dropped his pass. “Bluestreak!” Prowl struck again, not waiting to see his little brother dart to pick up the precious card.

“Got it!” He called and scrambled into the hallway.

Prowl ignored him, focusing on beating his much heavier opponent. He rammed his elbow into the guard’s throat, sparks and static spitting as the guard dropped to his knees. Prowl turned and ran out the door, grabbing Bluestreak.

Their pedes thudded along the cold, hard floor. Prowl gripped Bluestreak’s little hand even tighter, pulling him along and knowing that they had to reach the door that led to the outside. Any click now the alarms would sound, mechs would come running, and they would be dragged back to their room or worse.

Prowl gulped air as they reached the door. With trembling hands he inserted the card, tapped the sequence in…the light blinked red….then with a resounding ‘click’ it turned green and slid open.

“Come on!” Prowl grabbed Bluestreak again and dashed outside. A gust of icy, cold wind buffeted them and rain pounded into the asphalt, stinging their frames. Prowl kept running. The rain would aid them.

_Tweuh-Tweuh-Tweuh_

Red lights flooded the compound’s yard as bright search-lights switched on, drowning out the sound of wailing sirens, howling wind and rumbling thunder.

Bluestreak whimpered as Prowl sped up. “We can make it! This way!” He darted to the side, heading to the only structures he could see. They wove in between the large containers, the sounds of voices shouting and engines rumbling drawing closer. _Have to get out of here!_ His optics searched about him, but they were surrounded by large containers.

Prowl gritted his denta and kept running. They _would_ make it. They had to! They dived into a small side alley, and a spark of hope ignited when Prowl saw a street lamp. “Almost there, Blue! Just a little more!” He croaked through his dry throat. Bluestreak was crying, his vents coming in big, loud gasps. They reached the compound fence, and Prowl halted briefly. He looked up at the containers and swallowed. It was a long shot, but it was their only chance.

“Come!” He grabbed Bluestreak and ran to the containers. A small stack of crates were just high enough for him to shove Bluestreak onto the containers. He quickly followed.

“Prowl…?” Bluestreak’s voice quivered as he watched the distance they would have to jump.

“We can make it.” _We have to._ Prowl drew a deep vent, willing his fans to quiet down. _Focus._

“There they are!”  

Prowl whipped around, tanks dropping as he saw nearly a dozen lights weaving their way through the small alleys formed by the towering containers. “Now Blue, we have to jump now.”

They ran. Prowl jumped, Bluestreak followed. Prowl’s pedes hit the ground hard and he stumbled. He heard Bluestreak hit as well, a loud cry and hysterical crying following. His spark stopped as he turned to Bluestreak.

“Bluestreak?!” Prowl got up, his leg protesting. He ignored it as he hurried to Bluestreak. He glanced at the wall, the cries and curses of the men loud enough to warn him they didn’t have much time.

Bluestreak clutched his leg, tears staining his pale cheeks. “Hurts!” He wailed as Prowl snatched him up. “Shh, Bluestreak. We need to be quiet. I know it hurts, it hurt me, too.” He shifted Bluestreak to rest between his doorwings. They were running out of time. He started into the closest alley he could find, hoping that it wasn’t a dead end.

He tried running, but needles of pain shot into his hip every time his right pede collided with the rough tarmac. In the distance he could clearly make out engines revving and voices shouting. He leaned against a wall, his vents as heavy as Bluestreak’s weight against his back. He shuttered his optics. They weren’t going to outrun these mechs.

He stared around him. If he only knew where they were? He pushed off the wall and hobbled on, crooning his engine to soothe his younger brother’s tears and fears. He had to find some place for them to hide. Another gust of icy wind whipped around them, bringing a fresh downpour.

He could barely see in front of him. He flared his doorwings, trying to find his way. He hobbled on, the pain numbing.

A few streets down, the voices drew closer. Pain and exhaustion were making it hard to think. He leaned against the wall and rested his helm. He shuttered his optics. “Please,” he begged to no one in particular. “Please…” He opened his optics. The rain eased slightly and he saw a light burning at one of the structures. Hope and determination surged through him. Light meant life. Life meant safety. With a groan he continued, the limp more pronounced. So close. They were so close.

Prowl’s spark flared as he saw the light illuminated the building’s function board. A youngling centre. A primus-thanked youngling centre. A sob escaped him as he lowered Bluestreak.

His brother started whimpering again, his helm already wet with condensation and his optics near white as the raindrops mingled with his tears. Thunder cracked and Bluestreak jumped, tipping his helm back to look at the angry sky.

“Bluestreak, I need you to listen carefully to me.”

The sound of transformation had him jerking his helm up. He swallowed. He was running out of time. “Listen to me, Blue. I’m going to leave you hear. When I’m gone, ring the doorbell. When the door is opened, don’t say anything about who you are or where you came from. Ok?”

Bluestreak dropped his gaze back to Prowl, his little face contorted in blatant terror as he shook his helm. “Stay! Prowl?”

But Prowl shook his helm, tears welling in his optics. He was out of time. “I love you, Blue. Don’t ever forget that.” Prowl drew him into a quick hug and planted a kiss on his chevron. He would never see his little brother again, but at least Blue would live.

Shouts closed in as he stood. He grit his denta and turned away, ignoring the pain in his spark that was worse than the pain in his leg as he forced himself to run towards the voices. He might not escape, but Bluestreak had a chance, and he would do all that he could to ensure Bluestreak had that chance.

“There he is!”

“Get him!”

Adrenaline surged through Prowl as a dozen pedesteps shattered the delicate hope of escape. Prowl swung into a side street, not caring where he was going. The further away he could lead them from Bluestreak, the better. Another turn – mechs coming for him – turn into the alley – more mechs – take a left – more mechs – take a right –

_Oomph!_

What felt like a brick wall slammed into him, knocking him into the wet pavement. A hand pressed his helm down and jerked his arms back and up. Prowl cried out in pain, but it earned him a hard slap. Above, lighting flashed angrily as freezing rain continued pelting down.

Someone hauled him to his pedes. His leg protested.

“Where’s the other one?”

“Keep searching. The runt couldn’t have gone far.”

The back of a large hauler was opened and Prowl was thrown in. The door closed, shutting him in darkness. Prowl leaned his helm against the warm walls, his frame shaking as the last of the fight left him. _Please, Primus, don’t let them find him._

 

* * *

 

 

The drive back was longer than Prowl had expected. He was sure they hadn’t managed to run as far.

_Thump!_

Prowl groaned as he was slammed against the side panel as the van took a sharp turn. He rubbed his shoulder trying to soothe the lingering ache. He drew a deep vent. They had waited for a long time before finally they had driven off – without Bluestreak. Prowl bit his lower lip as he leaned his helm back against the panel. Bluestreak wasn’t here, which meant that he had gotten away. He squeezed his optics shut. He had to believe that Bluestreak got away. Whatever happened to him didn’t matter, as long as Blue was safe.

The hauler screeched to a stop. Prowl threw his hands out to keep from falling. His throat dry and spark pounding, he waited for the doors to open. Images of his carrier’s greying frame flicked through his processor. _Am I next?_

He swallowed hard and took deep vents. Angry voices bickered outside, drawing closer to the door. His doorwings traced their every move as fear constricted his throat. Whatever was going to happen next, at least Bluestreak was safe.

The doors were thrown open, the icy wind slammed into him and stole his vents. He had forgotten about the storm. The mechs outside had not.

“What are you waiting for?!” A burly mech yelled and grabbed his wrist, jerking him forward and out.

Prowl slipped on the edge and went down face first into a wet puddle. An angry growl was all warning he got before a doorwing was grabbed and yanked back.

“Aaah!” Prowl reached back, trying to grip the throbbing appendage. At the sneers of the mechs around him, he pressed his lips together, ignoring the hot tendrils of pain spiking up his doorwing and shoulder. He was shoved forward, the mechs not caring that his walk was off-kilter. Lighting clapped and Prowl looked up, optics rounding.

On top of the small hill, nestled among immaculately manicured gardens swaying to and fro in the wind and illuminated by scores of overly-bright lights, the daunting mansion loomed. Prowl dropped his optics towards the front porch. Guards lined the entrance way, their armour dripping as they glared at him with venom-filled optics. The anger was as pulpable as the hand squeezing his shoulder.

Prowl raised his chin and flared his doorwings. His spark pounded in his chassis and his throat was dry with fear, but his spark be damned if he showed these murderers any weakness. _Bluestreak, just focus on Bluestreak._

He limped towards the door, two broad-shouldered guards flanking him, their EM fields viciously cutting into his. Prowl shivered at the undertones of _want_ in their fields and he clamped his armour closer to his frame. He was not naïve to think that they wouldn’t satisfy their lust if they got the opportunity. _Collars…of course._ His nostrils flared as the realisation hit. They were being trafficked.

His mouth pulled in bitterness as anger flared in him. This was his sire’s doing. If he hadn’t gambled, something his carrier had _begged_  him often not to do, then Prowl wouldn’t be here, Bluestreak wouldn’t be hiding and he’d know where Smokescreen was and even if he was still alive? A thought struck him as hard as a physical blow and he stumbled. _What if Smokescreen was still at the warehouse?_

“Keep moving!” A large paw pushed him up the three steps and under the covered patio. The guard grabbed him by the collar, halting him. The heavy, brass doors swung open and a tall, spindly mech stepped out. The helm sported long, pointed finials – as spindly as the mech was – and his amber optics glowed as he stared down at Prowl with open contempt.

Prowl pulled back into himself as the mech focused on him. “You’ve kept the Boss waiting.” He murmured without turning his helm. “He is not pleased.”

Gone were the undertones of lust as Prowl felt a flicker of fear in the guards’ EM field. His vents hitched as his tanks clenched. Whatever awaited on the other side of those doors wasn’t going to be pleasant.

“Come.” The mech lifted his chin and turned around, snapping his digits.

The guards silently followed, dragging Prowl with them. Through the doors they entered into a wide hallway with an arched roof. Murals decked the arches and scrambled down the walls until they met marble floors. The entrance hall screamed wealth – wealth that Prowl could never imagine. He let his optics drift as the guards half pushed, half dragged him along. Instead of the broad spiral staircase, the mech led them to an elevator. The golden cage opened and they stepped in. Prowl stared at his reflexion in the delicate crystal panels, barely recognizing himself. His optics were shades lighter; energon mingled with rain ran little streams down his chassis; his temple was caked with dried energon where he had hit the pavement.

He hissed as a black hand stabbed into his side. Slowly he released his grit denta and drew calming vents. The elevator slid to a halt and the mech stepped out then turned his icy glare on Prowl.

Prowl glared back, putting as much venom into his stare as he could muster. He would be brave. As long as their attention was on him, they would ignore Bluestreak.

Spindly narrowed his optics at him and puffed his armour in warning, small finials rising and falling in cadence. He addressed the guards without breaking optic contact with Prowl. “Make sure he behaves.”

A heavy hand clamped down on Prowl’s delicate neck and yanked back hard. Prowl yelped as he stared at the dark ceiling. Lips touched his audials and he struggled not to fall. “I’ve had about fragging enough of you. You deserve every fragging thing that’s coming your slagging way!”

Doorwings straight up and jaw set firmly, Prowl ignored the pain now radiating through his frame as he was marched into the centre of the room. Condensation dotted his helm and darkness distorted the edges of his vision. He swallowed and drew ragged vents. The pressure on his neck intensified.

“Release him.”

With a shove the hand released him and Prowl dropped to his knees, gasping as he reached up to massage the delicate neck cabling. His vision cleared and he found himself staring at two black pedes on top of a scarlet-coloured carpet. A thin cane came into view and lifted his chin.

The mech was as black as the night with optics as crimson as the smelting pits of Polyhex. He tilted his helm, his sharp finials glinting in the low light of the room. His magnificent doorwings inched higher.

Prowl swallowed. A chill ran through his aching frame. This was no doubt the mech in charge. The mech responsible for murdering his family. The chill slowly morphed to seething anger.

“So this is the runt that managed to escape a supposedly secure compound?” The deep baritone voice flowed over the hushed room like thick syrup.

Prowl narrowed his optics at the large, black Praxian.

An optic ridge lifted, a sneer turning up the full lips. “Hmmm, I see he has not yet been broken in.”

The cane was removed from his chin and Prowl watched as the mech twirled it in his digits, walking back to his desk. His optics caught sight of another mech on his knees. A tinge of familiarity nibbled at the edges of his processor. He knew that mech.

The ‘boss’ walked over to the kneeling mech, still twirling his cane. “When I employ mechs, I expect them to do their jobs.” He stopped in front of the mech, “I have lost one piece of valuable merchandise because of you. What disturbs me more is that you were so easily bested by two sparklings.” He cocked his thick ridges and looked around the room at the gathered mechs in mock amusement.

Nervous laughter filtered through the room.

Prowl swallowed and his armour prickled. He balled his fists, knuckles turning white as he stared at the mech…the mech that sported a dent. He shuttered his optics as recollection hit. This was his guard. He drew a shaky vent and darted his optics back to the mech.

The boss turned his attention back to the kneeling mech, his broad shoulders drawn back as a coldness hardened his face and left it as lifeless as marble. “I have no need for mechs like you.”

“No!” Prowl recoiled as the mech dropped to the ground, hands to his throat as he gurgled and coughed in his own energon. His optics faded, his frame went limp. He was gone.

Prowl stared wide-opticed at the lifeless mech still bleeding his last life-force onto the expensive carpet. He swallowed the bile that burned his throat.

“Was anybot else involved?”

The deceptively soft voice drew Prowl’s attention like a youngling to a charmer’s flute. His optics caught on the thin blade dripping with energon. His lips pressed into a thin white line. That blade had come from the cane – the same one that had been inches away from his throat. He swallowed again as energon threatened to purge. He shuttered his optics and focused on getting his venting under control.

“Now, now, mechling. I don’t want these carpets soiled.”

Prowl yelped as a strong hand gripped his jaw, the sharp talons piercing his cheeks. He stared into burning, crimson optics. “You have already cost me, mechling. My tolerance is at an end.” The talons dug deeper and Prowl gritted his denta, panting and whining at the pain that shot through his neck, into his helm and down his back. The pain was everywhere.

The hand pulled up and Prowl struggled to his pedes, grunting as each movement caused more pain. Something wet and sticky slid down his neck and onto his chassis. Like lightning the hand switched from his jaw to his neck, pulling him close as a second hand roved his frame.

Prowl squirmed as the hand roved over his aft, up his back, between his doorwings….he pulled his armour tight, ignoring the pulsing pain in his face.

“You do have quite a lovely frame. Perhaps my personal brothel would suite you best.” The boss purred in his audial, pulling him flush. “But first, we need to attend to some urgent matters -specifically regarding my other piece of merchandise.”

 _Merchandise._ Prowl opened his optics and glared at the black mech. They were _not_ merchandise. No mech was simply a piece of merchandise to be bantered and sold like some inanimate object at the market. Especially not _Bluestreak._

He grit his denta, vents coming in gasps through his delicate olfactory ridge. “Screw you.”

“You defy me?” The voice had dropped to barely a whisper.

Prowl was vaguely aware of the mechs in the room shifting back towards the walls. It was all the warning he got before hot, scalding pain seared through his frame. Bright red warnings popped into his HUD, but he barely had time to acknowledge as he was flung down. His helm hit the ground and his HUD blacked out only to reboot as quickly.

“Ah!” pain exploded in his abdomen and he curled in, vents seizing. The mech didn’t stop. Another kick collided with him and a loud _crack_ followed by another wave of nauseating pain.

His chevron was grabbed and his helm yanked back. Prowl panted, loud sobs escaping his static-spitting vocaliser as his frame convulsed.

“Where is he!?” The snarled demand was followed by a backhand across his jaw.

The acrid taste of energon stung his glossa. He spit it out, sobs raking his shaking frame. _Bluestreak. This is what they’ll do to him._ He had to think of Bluestreak. He couldn’t be weak. His brother’s life depended on it. He squeezed his optics shut and shook his helm, his vision tilting precariously. “I’d…rather…die…”

A frightening roar filled the room. Pure agony flooded his frame, and Prowl lost count of the blows raining down on him.

 

* * *

 

Barricade threw the chair at the wall, watching it splinter against the wall. His anger rode him like coals of fire heating the smelting pots at the whelp’s refusal. By Unicron’s spawn the youngster was stubborn. He glared at the crumpled form lying in a pool of energon, the flow of life ebbing. When last had a mech defied him so? He growled and grabbed another chair, swinging it with all the strength he could muster.

He huffed in ill-spent satisfaction as the chair collided with one of the idiots lining the walls like frightened little petrorabits. _Pathetic_. They didn’t have the ball bearings this sparkling had. He should kill them all. He flared his armour, spikes rising like needles along his back as dark crimson lines criss-crossed his frame. Yes, they would all die for letting this happen. One did not slight the Lord of the Praxian Underworld.

Not like this little runt had done. He turned back to broken frame. Broken in frame… Unbroken in spirit. Barricade bared his fangs. He would brake this mech. He would frag him into submission and have this mech grovel at his pedes. He would mould him and form him into a worthy opponent before he snuffed his spark.

He snorted, optics pinned on the black and white. “Get the medic. If he dies, the medic dies.”

He turned his back on the scene behind him as he marched to his cabinet. He grabbed a decanter, glared at it, then threw it at the wall. It broke, splattering its expensive contents across the wall. With a roar of frustration he wiped the counter clean, a loud crash resounding through the room as mechs scurried to get out.

Only one mech dared remain.

“Brimstone, make sure that mech gets his upgrades. I want him.”

The spindly mech bowed his helm. “It will be my pleasure, master.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the last update for this year - next update will be in 2018. I plan on completing this story before posting, so hopefully it won't take too long as the outline is already completed. That being said - if you spot any faults with this chapter, pop me a review. It is unbeta'd and written late at night. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt- http://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/13205.html?thread=14988181#t14988181
> 
> REQ: G1 – Jazz/Prowl – saved from misery trope, h/c, romance, poss. dark themes  
> (this req also mentions prostitution and noncon-y themes but they aren’t essential parts)
> 
> THIS MIGHT HAVE TRIGGERS FOR READERS WHO HAS EXPERIENCED PREVIOUS ABUSE. I will not be overly graphic in my depictions of non-con, but it will be referenced and violence/domestic abuse will also be touched on. The basis of this story focuses on trafficking, a very real problem in the contemporary world.


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